


Tirian: on the white night sky

by Quecksilver_Eyes



Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Gen, narnia is dying and groaning under its white night sky and tirian watches and watches as it dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 15:23:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17983649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quecksilver_Eyes/pseuds/Quecksilver_Eyes
Summary: The sky has been white, lately, dotted with black spots where the world hasn’t grown too tight for it, too narrow to hold all this light. The sun hangs slow and sluggish half submerged in the sea, and it tints the world lilac and red and pink as another sibling is born and takes up black space with its gleam, young and new and eager to grow.





	Tirian: on the white night sky

The sky has been white, lately, dotted with black spots where the world hasn’t grown too tight for it, too narrow to hold all this light. The sun hangs slow and sluggish half submerged in the sea, and it tints the world lilac and red and pink as another sibling is born and takes up black space with its gleam, young and new and eager to grow.

When I was a child, I’d count the stars in the night sky, follow the constellations above me and on my skin. I wonder, if I could still count each of them, paint their light on my tight skin; cracked and dying with all this weight on it. I wonder if there would be colours: red giants and their blazing fire, white dwarfs and their cooling gleam, red dwarfs and the orange youth sprouting from them. I wonder, sometimes, what they see when they look down on us, with their hushed voices, barely enough space to move their heads, barely enough life to see how this world unfolds.

I wonder how much longer our lives keep ticking until they all fall down from the heavens as it crumbles underneath their too-heavy too-bright lights. I wonder how many of them will be new, and breathless – how many of them haven’t known a sky wherein they can dance, a sky that is black, or blue with the lack of them. I wonder how many of our people are the same.

There is a star-queen, buried in Narnian soil, a star’s daughter, a king’s wife, and her grave has been disintegrating, slowly. I wonder how much longer it is until they will find her, a fallen star of molten, still glowing rock, in a crater much bigger than the grave her husband dug with his own hands for the friend he’d lost.

You see, I wonder how much longer this world will last until the last of this black has been filled and our Narnia dies, at last.


End file.
